Bumper Stickers, Hanging Plants, and Teacups
by J0
Summary: Oneshot. In an inexplicably foul mood, Olivia is verbally abusive with a victim. Will her thoughtless comments risk both her and Elliot's careers?


_**Bumper Stickers, Hanging Plants, and Teacups**_

_  
A Street in Manhattan  
10:08 A.M., Tuesday, March 23, 2006_

"Stupid bitch!" Olivia Benson snarled, laying on the horn as a car pulled out in front of her in the Manhattan traffic.

Frowning in confusion, her partner, Elliot Stabler asked, "What did I miss? She didn't cut you off, did she?" Even if she had, it was unlike Olivia to get so abusively angry over such a small thing. That was his department.

"No!" Olivia snapped. "It's that fucking bumper sticker!"

As they pulled up behind the offending vehicle at a stop light, Elliot leaned forward to peer at the sticker. It was a picture of an adorable little baby crawling along and grinning up at the camera with the words _I'm a child, not a choice_ in purple and white.

"Hmm. You know, I always figured you for pro-choice, but I never imagined you were so . . . um . . . militant about it," he said.

"I just wish there were room on the back of a car for a picture of an unhappy teenage girl with cuts and scars all over her arms from self-injury and a clever caption saying, _I'm the product of rape or incest, born to a drug-addicted or alcoholic mother who makes a habit of beating the shit out of me and I have grown up alone in the world, never knowing what it means to have a family or a father. I am the reason women __**need **__a choice."_

Elliot held his breath for a moment. This wasn't the first time they had seen a victim who had been impregnated by her attacker and didn't know what to do about the baby. Naturally, Olivia was a little sensitive to the issues because of her own background, but he had never seen it get to her like this. Fortunately, he was spared from having to think of a verbal response by their arrival at their destination.

_Patricia Grimm's Apartment, Manhattan  
10:23 A.M., Tuesday, March 23, 2006_

"I want to thank you again for agreeing to see us," Elliot said sincerely as Patricia Grimm walked them to the door of her apartment. "And you have my word, we will continue to do everything we can to find the guy who did this."

"But it's starting to look like you won't be able to, isn't it?" Patricia asked sadly.

Elliot sighed. "I'm sorry, Patricia," he said, "but the longer it takes, the less likely we are to find him."

"Unless he does it to someone else," Olivia added in a voice completely lacking in compassion.

Elliot glared at her, but said, "Detective Benson is correct. Because you consented to the evidence collection exam, we have his DNA. If he does it again, and that victim also agrees to the exam, we'll have new leads to go on."

"But I shouldn't hold my breath," Patricia commented.

"No, what you should do is try to find a way to go on with your life," Elliot said kindly. "If there is anything else we can do, don't hesitate to call."

"Umm, actually . . ." Patricia's voice began to waver and she had to swallow before she could continue. "I . . . I still haven't decided what to do about the baby. Can you recommend any counseling services where I can find someone who will discuss the options with me?"

Before Elliot could answer, Olivia said, "Trust me, lady, you don't want that thing inside you."

Then she stalked out of the apartment without excusing herself leaving Elliot behind to apologize for her.

XXXX

"Can we go now," Olivia asked as Elliot burst from the apartment building fifteen minutes behind her, "or do you need to stick around and hold poor Patty's hand some more?"

"Keys!" Elliot barked.

"Huh?"

"Give me the keys! I'm driving!"

"Suit yourself," Olivia shrugged, and she tossed the keys in his general direction so that he had to lunge for them to catch them.

She climbed into the car and sat in stony silence as Elliot started the engine and pulled away from the curb. Three blocks later, he pulled over and killed the engine.

"What are we stopping here for?" she asked.

"We need to talk," Elliot told her sternly.

She snorted. "About what?"

"About whatever the hell is eating you, today, Liv."

"Nothing's bothering me," she said. "What's your problem?"

"Don't lie to me, Olivia!" Elliot roared, but Olivia didn't even bat an eye. "That woman needed compassion, support, and advice."

"That _woman_ needs a shrink!" Olivia snapped back.

"She's carrying a child that was fathered by her _rapist_," Elliot hissed. "I should think you, of all people, would want to offer her some sympathy."

"My sympathy is for that kid if she's stupid and selfish enough to bring it into the world," Olivia practically growled. "She'll never be able to love it; no man will ever want to marry its mother, so it will grow up without a father; when it gets old enough to ask her why it doesn't have a daddy like the other kids, she'll slap the snot out of it because it reminds her of the event that created it . . ."

"There's always a . . ."

"And don't try to tell me some nice couple will want to adopt it, not knowing who the father is or knowing the father is a rapist," Olivia cut him off. "People don't like sharks in their gene pool."

"Olivia," Elliot said, trying to remain calm, "your experience informs your personal opinion about the subject, but that doesn't give you the right to impose it on a victim."

"And your experience does? I'm sure you really reassured her that it was ok not to want it. My God, Elliot! You're a man, you're Catholic, and you've fathered four children that we know of!"

"That we know of?" Elliot gasped and clung to the steering wheel with a white-knuckle grip. If she were a man and not his partner, she'd be nursing several busted teeth right now.

"Four years in the marines, Elliot," she said. "That's a long time to be away from your wife."

Now he realized what she was doing and he was determined not to let her get away with it. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he said, "I'm going to make this real simple for you, partner. You can talk to me about what's going on, we can call Dr. Skoda and you can talk to him; or we can go back to the station, I'll tell Cragen what you did to Patricia Grimm, and you'll be lucky if all he does is suspend you."

Olivia sat staring sullenly out the window, her arms crossed, her lips pursed and her whole body tense. Her nose and cheeks were turning red, and after a minute, she finally had to reach up and wipe away a tear. Still, she didn't talk.

Finally, Elliot had no choice but to shrug and start the engine. "Ok, suit yourself."

"Today's her birthday," Olivia finally blurted.

Elliot did not have to ask who 'her' was. Turning the engine off again, he turned to his partner and said, "It's been over five years since your mom died, Liv, why is this birthday affecting you so much more than others?"

"She would have been sixty-five today," Olivia explained.

Elliot knew the number was significant, but it was so far away for him that he couldn't quite figure out a reply before Olivia continued.

"She used to talk about . . . how she was going to sell her apartment and buy a little bungalow on some . . . some rundown, unpopular, non-touristy beach where she could . . . grow flowers . . . and . . . and heirloom tomatoes, and those nasty, little hot banana peppers she loved so much," Olivia said, her words breaking up as her tears overtook her.

"Aw, Liv, I'm sorry," Elliot said sympathetically. He could understand a little of what she was going through because he had lost his father before they could make peace, and there were times when he still, after all these years, would get angry about it.

Olivia nodded, accepting his compassion, and continued her explanation. "I was at a flea market a few weeks ago . . . and I . . . I saw these hanging planters . . . They had quotes on them . . . from some of her favorite poets . . . Blake, Milton, Shelley, Cole . . . Coleridge . . . and I b-bought them for her to h-hang from the porch of her b-bungalow."

Now Olivia was sobbing in earnest. "I was actually putting them into my storage locker in the basement of my building before I realized that I would never get the chance to give them to her!"

Her voice rose to an agonized squeak as she finished her sentence, and then, overcome with grief, she just covered her face with her hands and sat there sobbing.

If the center console had not been in the way, Elliot would have pulled his partner into a comforting hug. As it was, he could only squeeze her shoulder supportively with one hand and call the station on his cell phone with the other.

"_Cragen,"_ his boss snapped into the phone, and right away, Elliot suspected they were already in trouble.

"Cap, it's Elliot."

"_What the __**hell**__ did you two do?" _Don's angry shout seared his eardrum. _"I just got off the phone with Patricia Grimm's lawyer. Something about a police harassment suit? And before that, I talked to her rape crisis counselor who apparently just wanted to give me hell. And Munch took a message from her father in freaking __**Buffalo**__ threatening to, and I quote, 'slap the living shit out of that bitch cop.'"_

"Oh, boy," Elliot sighed into the phone.

"_Oh, boy? That's all you have to say for yourself?" _Don scolded. _"What the hell happened?"_

"Cap, do you trust me to do the right thing?" Elliot asked.

"_I don't know,"_ the captain grumbled. _"Should I?"_

"Look, you know Liv, and you know me, so you know there has to be more to this than meets the eye," Elliot said.

"_I expected as much, so tell me what's up," _Cragen demanded.

"I . . . I can't, Cap," Elliot said reluctantly, "It's not my story to tell. What happened shouldn't have, but it's not what it seems. If you can just buy us some time, say until the end of business today. Take us off the clock, and I'll do everything I can to put it right. Then Liv and I will come back to the station and, well, we'll face the consequences, whatever they are."

"_Why the hell don't you just come back to the station now and explain yourselves?" _Cragen asked.

Elliot glanced to his partner, who had just begun to get herself under control, but when their eyes met, she dissolved into tears again.

"That's not going to do anybody any good," Elliot said with a sigh and looked at his watch. It was almost one in the afternoon, "but if you can give me until the end of the day, there's a chance we can appease Patricia Grimm and make this all go away."

"_I'm not sure you should be telling me that,"_ Don said anxiously, _"You're not going to do anything stupid, are you?"_

"No, sir, just try to explain, apologize, and make peace," Elliot said. "And if the shit still hits the fan, Liv and I will be standing there at 5:00 p.m. to catch it."

There was a long silence from the captain, and then a deep sigh, _"Ok, you have the rest of the day. Do what you can, but if you're not in my office by five, I'm throwing you to the wolves, got it?"_

"Yes, sir," Elliot agreed, and then he clicked his phone shut before his boss could change his mind.

_The Evergreens Cemetery, Brooklyn  
12:15 P.M., Tuesday, March 23, 2006_

"What the hell am I supposed to do now?" Olivia muttered to her partner. She sat in the sedan, staring out at the cemetery, crouched up in fear like a rabbit that has caught the scent of a fox, but doesn't know which way to run.

"Talk to her," Elliot said simply.

"What? Are you out of your mind?"

"No. Seriously, Olivia," he said as reassuringly as he could. "Talk to her. Even if you don't believe she can hear you, it will do you good to get it out. Tell her what you wish you had said when you had the chance."

She looked at him as if he really was crazy, and he told her emphatically, "Go."

Her movements were slow, uncertain, and awkward, but she did as she was told. Hesitantly, she walked up to her mother's grave, and for several minutes, she just stood there, sniffling, and worrying her lower lip with her upper teeth. It seemed to take forever for her jumbled thoughts to form a coherent statement.

Then a low, agonized moan welled up from within her, and she wailed, "I'm still so _angry_ with you!"

She hit her knees and sobbed for several minutes.

XXXX

Elliot watched his partner from the car and he winced when she went down on her knees because she'd hit the cold ground hard. He would have gone to comfort her if it had been possible, but he knew from experience that she had to go through this herself. On Rebecca Hendrix's advice, he'd been through the same thing last fall with his dad, and it had actually, surprisingly, helped.

When Liv fell forward onto all fours and started pounding the ground with her fists and tearing up huge chunks of grass, he began to feel like a voyeur. Not comfortable with the sensation, he turned on the radio, closed his eyes, leaned back in his seat and began to hum along.

XXXX

"Sleeping on the job, partner?" Olivia teased when the sound of the opening car door startled Elliot out of a light doze. Her voice was still thick with the tears she had shed, but the weight of grief behind it had lifted.

"Actually, we've been off the clock since I called Cragen," he told her as she settled in her seat and buckled up.

Sighing, she nodded. "Yeah, it did. I, uh, after I yelled and screamed at her, I told her about the flower pots and what we were going to do with them."

"And do you think she'd approve?"

Another nod. "I think she'd be very pleased."

_Patricia Grimm's Apartment, Manhattan  
2:34 P.M., Tuesday, March 23, 2006_

Holding a hanging planter full of some kind of flowering plant with brilliant red blossoms and dark green foliage, the name of which she could not remember, Olivia stood nervously outside the apartment door and waited for someone to answer. She heard the deadbolt turn and then the door swung open just a fraction.

"Oh, my God!" Patricia Grimm gasped in disgust as she glared through the small gap allowed by the security chain. "Go away!"

Olivia ignored the pain in her foot as the door slammed on it.

"What the _hell_ do you want?" Patricia demanded.

"I won't ask you to forgive me," Olivia said contritely, "but the person who was here earlier, that's not me. I would be deeply beholden to you if you would give me a chance to apologize and explain."

She held her breath for a long moment while Patricia stood with her mouth open, and then with an exasperated sigh, the young woman said, "I'm listening."

Looking at her pleadingly, Olivia asked, "May I come inside?"

Glowering, Patricia slid the chain aside and opened the door, admitting the detective to her home. Olivia stepped into the studio apartment and set the planter on the tiles just inside the door. Patricia crossed the tiny space and sat on the sofa facing her. Olivia stood awkwardly on the tiles, not sure what to do next.

"Don't expect me to invite you to sit down," Patricia said angrily. "I don't expect you to be here that long."

Olivia nodded. The other woman had every right to be mad as hell at her.

"In 1967, on her way home from the university library, my mother was raped. I am the product of that attack," she began, hating the tremor in her voice. Taking a deep breath and licking her dry lips, she struggled to continue.

"She was an abusive alcoholic, and since it was just the two of us, I was her only target. I spent most of my childhood fearing her and most of my adolescence hating her. The only time she ever touched me was with the back of her hand across my face. I couldn't understand why she didn't seem to love me like my friends' moms loved them."

Patricia's expression had softened, but she had yet to invite the detective to sit down. So Olivia wiped the tears from her eyes with the knuckles of one fisted hand and stood there, trembling as she continued her story.

"I was in my twenties when I finally found out the truth about my conception, and for a while after that, I just pitied my mother. Then I started trying to get to know her better. It got easier when I left home. Sometimes I would call her when I got home from work in the evening and we would talk until sunrise. We only lived a few blocks apart, and I could have visited her any time, but it was easier when we didn't have to face each other. I came to realize that my mother must have been capable of incredible, amazing love, simply to let me come into the world and to keep me a part of her life, but she was so full of pain and anger about what had been done to her that she just didn't know how to show it."

Olivia paused and covered her mouth for a moment to stifle a sob that was bubbling at the back of her throat. She had no right to expect Patricia to comfort her or to even be patient with her while she reigned in her emotions, so she didn't dare lose it now.

"I was in my early thirties when we finally were able to show each other some kind of affection. We could finally sit down, face to face, and talk about things, and then she died.

"Today was her birthday. It would have been her sixty-fifth, and I was angry with her for leaving me before I could learn to forgive her, for leaving me with so much unresolved pain. I took my anger out on you, Miss Grimm, and that is inexcusable. I'm sorry."

Olivia picked up the planter and held it out to Patricia.

"I want you to have this," Olivia said. "I bought it a few weeks ago because it reminded me of my mom. She was an English professor, and she wanted to move to the beach and grow flowers and vegetables when she retired. It has a quote by one of her favorite poets painted on it, and, well . . . I just want you to have it."

Almost without meaning to, Patricia stood up and accepted the gift. She held it at eye level and turned it so she could read the quote aloud: "Beauty is truth, truth beauty, - that is all ye know on earth, and all ye need to know. John Keats."

Olivia nodded. "You should just ignore those awful things I said, and do like my partner suggested. Get some resources from your rape crisis counselor, get some information on your options, and follow your heart. If you do that, then, no matter what you decide, it will be the right thing."

Patricia stood there, admiring the flowering plant, considering the thought behind the gift, what it might mean to Detective Benson, to the detective's mother, and what it was supposed to mean to her. Whatever the policewoman had said and done earlier, clearly, she only wanted to offer her help now.

"Well, I better go," Olivia said softly, and she turned to leave.

"Olivia, wait," Patricia said.

Benson turned to face the other woman.

"Did you ever think that maybe you would have been better off dead?"

Olivia took a long moment to consider her answer. She thought back through all the painful moments, the beatings, the arguments, the emotional abuse, the cleaning up her mom's vomit and filling her to the gills with coffee after a binge, the coming home to an empty house when she was still in elementary school and knowing her mom was out drinking, the thinking that her mom didn't love her because she was a bad child, then thinking it was because her mom was a bad mother, then finally knowing it was all because she was the living reminder of the worst moment in Serena Benson's life.

Finally, she looked Patricia in the eye, and told her, "No, not once, not ever."

Patricia chewed her lower lip for a moment and then hesitantly invited, "W-won't you sit down?"

_NYU English Department Main Office  
19 East University Place, Manhattan  
4:20 P.M., Tuesday, March 23, 2006_

"You know, your mother was so proud of you," the English Department secretary, Angela Farber, told Olivia as she handed one of the potted plants up to her to hang from the hooks Elliot had installed in the ceiling.

"Really?" Olivia asked dubiously as she hung a wandering Jew with its silvery green and dark purple foliage between the variegated spider plant and the devil's ivy. For ease of care, she had selected non-flowering vines for the English department so that there would be no dead little flowers to pinch off ever day.

"Oh, yes, Olivia," Angela said. "Every time you got a promotion or made the papers, she made it a point to tell us. Whenever you and she made plans together, she'd talk about having a 'date' with her daughter, like it was an event, and she always showed off the gifts you gave her. That porcelain teacup and saucer with the blue violets t was one of her favorites. She used it all the time. If you saw it sitting somewhere in the department, you knew Serena was nearby."

"Really?" Olivia repeated, this time in open surprise. "When I never saw it at the apartment when I went to visit her, I thought she'd broken it." She chose not to add _in a drunken stupor_ out of respect for the dead.

"What? No, dear," Angela said. "Wasn't it in that box of her effects I packed up for you? I'm sure I remember wrapping it in paper to protect it."

"Oh, uh…Actually, I don't know, Mrs. Farber. I put that box in storage with the rest of her things," Olivia admitted a bit sheepishly.

"I see," Angela replied, sounding a bit puzzled. "Well, you should get it out and look through it. She had a lot of her favorite things in her office so she could have them close to her."

Olivia nodded, chewing on her lower lip as she looked up at the plants. "I . . . I'll do that. So, what do you think?"

Angela admired the plants and said, "They're lovely. Your mother would have loved them. I'll be sure to take good care of them."

"I'm glad you like them. I hope you enjoy them."

"You know, your mother always talked about moving to the shore when she retired, so she could grow plants. She always complained that her apartment didn't get enough light."

"I know," Olivia said with a slight laugh. "If you ask me, I think she had a brown thumb." _And she was too drunk most of the time to take proper care of the few houseplants she did try to grow._

"Actually, I think it was an excuse to be near the water," Angela said. "She said you loved to swim and she thought it might get you to visit a little more often."

"Oh," was all Olivia could say for fear her voice would break.

Sensing that his partner was having an awkward moment, Elliot tapped his watch and said, "We need to get going, Liv. The captain is waiting for us."

"Yeah, right," she said with a tone of dread. Turning to Angela, she gave the older woman a quick hug for no other reason than that she felt like doing so and said, "Bye." Then she quickly retreated on her partner's heels.

_16th Precinct  
Manhattan SVU  
4:53 P.M., Tuesday, March 23, 2006_

"You ok?" Elliot asked as they headed down the hall toward their squad room and their potential doom.

"Yeah, I think I am," Olivia said with a faint smile. Slowing her pace, she looked at her partner and said, "Elliot, I really want to thank you for all you did to help me today, but you shouldn't have stuck your neck out for me like that."

"Bull!" he snapped. "You've saved me from my own stupidity plenty of times."

"Yeah, but I don't have a wife and four kids to support," she reminded him.

"Four kids that we know of," he smirked.

She winced. "I was hoping you'd forget I said that."

"Said what?" he asked innocently, causing her to smile in relief to know her jibe had been forgiven.

Pausing at the doors to the squad room, he turned to look at her and asked, "Are you ready for this?"

"I think so," she said nervously.

Together they walked into the squad room and crossed the floor to the captain's office. Elliot rapped on the door, and when Cragen gestured them in, he opened it and let Olivia pass through ahead of him.

"Captain, I . . ." Olivia began.

"Shut it!" Don barked.

"Look, Cap," Elliot tried.

"You, too!"

When he was satisfied they would both stay quiet, he said, "Patricia Grimm called about an hour ago. She said she had reconsidered her complaint and asked me to thank you, Olivia, for going back to talk with her."

Elliot nudged her slightly in the ribs, and Olivia nodded and smiled with relief.

"Now, I don't know what you did or how you fixed it, and I don't need to know as long as it isn't going to come back and bite me in the ass," Don continued. "That said, is there anything you need to tell me?"

Elliot and Olivia shared a look. She shrugged, he bit his bottom lip. They both looked at their captain and said in unison, "No sir."

"Ok, then. Olivia, Patricia also asked me to thank you for helping her make her decision. Now, both of you file your reports and go home," he said, "and when you come back tomorrow, please try not to create another crap storm for me, ok?"

Elliot smirked. "Oh, come on, Cap, where'd be the fun that?"

Of course that made Olivia laugh.

The glare he shot them made them both decide to leave.

_16th Precinct  
Manhattan SVU_  
8:33 A.M., Thursday, March 24, 2006

Olivia winced as she settled back in her chair to read the note that had been hand-delivered by the desk sergeant a few minutes ago. She'd spent the past couple of nights cleaning out her storage space, and now, every muscle was sore. Sipping at her hot, sweet drink, she moaned when she had to reach out to put the cup down and pick up the ivory handled letter opener that she had found among her mom's things.

The envelope was plain white, good-quality stationery. On the outside of the card, in gold embossed script were the words _Thank You_. Inside was a short message.

_Dear Detective Benson,_

_I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate your coming back to see me yesterday afternoon. _

_When something terrible like this happens, you feel like you're completely alone and no decision you make can be a good one. You know the people who love you are there to support you, but the enormity of what you have suffered makes them uncomfortable. It almost seems like a good idea to just make it go away as quickly as possible so you can pretend it never happened and get on with your life._

_After talking with you, I know that it doesn't work that way._

_I have decided to carry this baby to term. Thanks to you, it was an easy decision. I am finding my friends and family are having a much harder time with it than I am. My minister has been very supportive, and he is going to help me find a reliable adoption agency. Maybe, with loving parents who can care for it the way every child deserves, this child may one day become an extraordinary person like you._

_Thank you again for taking the time to talk to me and for letting me get to know you a little better. You were right. I followed my heart, and sure enough, it led me to the right decision._

_Apology accepted._

_Patricia Grimm_

Olivia closed the card and sat back with a sigh and a grimace as her back protested again. She wasn't sure how she felt about her influence in Patricia's decision. The young woman had not chosen an easy path, but it sounded as if she believed it was the best one for her. She wondered what would become of the baby, what kind of people would adopt it, what they would be told about its parentage, and what they would tell the child when it got old enough to start asking.

She hoped that the baby, she couldn't think of it as _Patricia's_ baby because it was forced upon her, would have an easier life than she did, but then she smiled as she realized that just being alive was a blessing in itself. When she was conceived in 1967, abortion wasn't legal, but so-called therapeutic D & C was, and if Serena couldn't have found a doctor to do that, there were plenty of illegal, back-alley clinics that would.

She dropped the card into her bottom desk drawer where she kept special things various victims had sent her through the years and turned to switch on her computer, wincing once again when her sore back complained. Elliot breezed into the precinct, gave her a cheerful, "Good morning," hung up his coat, and moved over to the coffee pot to fill his mug.

"Liv, coffee?" he offered to his partner who was already settled and working at her desk.

"No, thanks," she smiled, lifting a porcelain cup decorated with blue violets. "I'm drinking tea today."

The End

* * *

**Disclaimer: **Law and Order: Special Victims Unit property of Dick Wolf and Wolf Productions. This story is written solely for entertainment and not for profit.


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